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The Nest was completely unremarkable.
From the outside, at least.
Tucked away at the end of a little grassy path, cobblestones long since overgrown, it was completely unremarkable in every single way. There was nothing to distinguish it from the dozens of other self-proclaimed cutesy BnBs that populated the island. Until you stepped inside, that was.
The entirety of Liset Island was practically swarming with them, a huge pull to the tourists who would pour in by the thousands in the summers, only to disappear as the temperatures dropped.
Many of these were just families from around, wanting nothing more than to enjoy a little time off on a (mostly) warm island, completely unbeknownst to the history of the land beneath their feet.
Many had another motive. Most were history nerds, or as they preferred to be called, enthusiasts. They were a completely different audience, marketed to specifically by places that turned the lights down on purpose, or got rid of them completely, only to replace them with lamps fashioned to look like ones with oil, only to have a little manual switch on the bottom. Or that decorated their halls with aluminium suits of armour that one could find ‘made in china’ stamped on the bottom of.
And the final, smallest vertical, was that of the amateur ghost hunters.
Liset was practically steeped in history, but these hunters’ interests went further than cannons and names of commanders. Often laden with cameras with thrown-together attachments, and big old diaries or other such old objects, they, too, were specifically catered to. Places that called themselves ‘hotspots’ or ‘active spots’, often located near or on the old battlegrounds.
The Nest was none of these.
It was an externally unremarkable wooden building, not exactly sprawling, but big enough to warrant calling the surrounding area its grounds. But whenever guests stumbled into the quaint hand-painted board at the top of the driveway, or (more usually) came across the ads Lewis insisted on putting up, they tended to fall in love the second they crossed the threshold.
Everything about it screamed ‘home’. The walls of the reception were covered with photos of guests, dating back to the 60s, when it had been established. Paintings of the sights of Liset adorned the staircases, and though not what any critic would call ‘art’, they had an undeniable charm.
The rooms were comfortable, big enough without being showy, and quite cosy, but they weren’t what lingered on the guests’ minds once they left. Neither were the bathrooms, which the proprietors insisted on having updated to standards that would’ve put quite a few Holiday Inns to shame.
No, what everyone remembered, and felt pulled to during the entirety of their stay, was the kitchen and the dining room.
This area had been renovated too, but they’d left in a fair bit of the 60s stuff in. The tiles were still a black and white checkerboard, and the dining table and the countertops were still a pretty yellow formica, though it had faded to something of a beige over the years.
Old utensils were never retired, being added to a corner which had turned into something of a modern art installation. And the large fridges which lined the wall (three of them), were always laden with recipes of whatever was on for breakfast, there for the taking of anyone who fancied them.
But it was still none of these that caught the unsuspecting guests’ eye. Most of them stopped short as they walked in, simply staring out the large French windows on the opposite wall.
After years of having lived there, of having cooked in the very kitchen, Harry’s breath still caught when he saw the scenery.
The land didn’t not so much drop away into the sea as much as gently roll into it, the slopes covered year-round with juniper and verbena. The sea wasn’t the same technicolour blue as that printed in the brochures, bar a few sunny days, but the steely grey of the water almost reflected the blues and the purples of the slopes, and the complete effect was beautiful enough to be deemed ‘breathtaking’ by the reviewers that visited every year.
Being on the tip of the island meant that nearly every single room had a view similar to this, but there was something simply magnetic about the kitchen that made people want to be there.
As someone who spent all day, every day in there, Harry couldn’t disagree.
Harry was one of the proprietors of The Nest, along with his husband, Louis.
He couldn’t remember when his life hadn’t consisted of waking up at 5 to bake for the guests, of waking Louis up at 6 with his tea and toast, and talking to him as he manned the reception desk in hushed tones until the guests started trickling down. It wasn’t what either of them had dreamed of when they’d met at uni, but it was everything Harry could’ve asked for, and more.
Harry loved interacting with each guest they hosted, it was one of his favourite parts of the job, but the years had honed what Louis called his guest-sense. There were just some guests that would catch his attention as they walked through the door, bringing with them the resolute knowledge that they would leave behind a story that Harry could tell to hundreds of others.
As soon as the brunette man walked through the kitchen doors, well after their general breakfast timings, pausing for the perfunctory stare at the sea before pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table, Harry knew there was a particularly juicy story just waiting to be told.
“Hey,” Harry smiled, wiping his hands on his apron as he stepped out from behind the kitchen counter.
“Oh- Hi,” The man replied, seeming a little shocked to see him, offering back a small smile nonetheless.
“It’s past the usual breakfast timings, I don’t think we have anything warm left over.” Harry said apologetically. “And I’d offer to whip you up an omelette but we’re out of eggs. There might be some milk in the fridge if you’d like cereal?”
“Oh, thanks for offerin’, but just coffee’s fine.” The man smiled back, a little warmer this time.
He had quite a thick accent, Irish, Harry assumed.
“I’m Harry, by the way. Lad who checked you in was Louis. He’s my partner,” He gave the other man a sheepish look. “I’d offer to shake your hand but my hands are all floury.”
“Oh- No worries,” The other man chuckled awkwardly, and when Harry got the sudden feeling he’d perhaps overstepped a boundary or said something that didn’t sit right. “I’m Niall.”
Harry poured himself a cup of coffee too, leaning against the counter for a while, the two of them watching the tide in silence. “At the risk of sounding like a snooping aunt- You here on Liset by yourself?”
“Guess you could say that.” Niall answered, not without a little pause, but he’d done that each time Harry’d said something. He just gathered that he might be something of the nervous type. He’d met more people than he could count with certain habits like that, tending to pause and think before every single reply.
Harry simply nodded, not pressing further. He knew a short answer when he heard one.
“Uh, I’m sure you’re more than aware, seeing as you live here,” Niall continued a few minutes, seemingly out of nowhere.
He paused again, turning slightly in his chair to face the kitchen.
“Liset’s got something of a reputation with people who… Believe in the afterlife. Myself included. I don’t really like the word, but I guess you could say I’m a ghost hunter? I prefer investigator, though.” He added with a small laugh.
It was quite catchy, Harry had to agree, smiling as he nodded. “We get a fair few of those here. Can’t say we’ve hosted any ourselves, though.”
“Oh, I won’t be any bother,” Niall said promptly, and Harry felt a little bad for him, how quickly he’d gone to defend himself. He didn’t get the places that had stupid rules about what guests could or couldn’t do. As long as their guests didn’t bother anyone else, Harry saw nothing wrong with just a bit of fun.
Not that he particularly believed in any of that stuff, but living on an island that was mostly uninhabited every winter, he’d had his fair share of… Weird experiences.
“It’s not like we mind, or anything,” Harry hurried to say. “You’re more than welcome to have a look around, if anything. As long as no one’s being disturbed I see nothing wrong with a bit of a look-see. Can’t say I’m not curious, myself.”
It was a long pause before Niall spoke again. Must’ve been all those years spent poking around attics by himself. Or maybe he just wasn’t the talking type, Harry figured.
“Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” He said softly. “Hope you don’t think I’m snooping. Curiosity’s all part of the job, and whatnot,”
“Oh, it’s an old house on an island. Stuff creaks and settles. Everything’s just creepier when you’re alone,” Harry chuckled, clutching the mug to his chest.
“We’ve got another that set off my guest-sense today,” Harry hummed as he brought out a tray of cookies to the porch, where Louis was currently relaxing on one of the many rocking chairs.
“Oh yeah?” Louis smiled, picking out a hobnob from the tray and dipping it in his tea. It was the middle of the afternoon, with most of their guests either out exploring the island or sleeping off their hangovers from the previous night.
“Yeah, one of those investigator types. You might’ve pegged him when you checked him in. Brown hair, Irish, about as tall as you? Had him in during breakfast this morning- If you can call a cup of coffee at 1 in the afternoon breakfast.” Harry chuckled, settling down on the chair next to Louis’.
“Mm, not that I can recall. Why, he caught your eye?” Louis teased, waggling his eyebrows at Harry in a manner that he couldn’t help but find ridiculous.
“Yeah, right.” Harry laughed, poking him playfully. “He’s just… Intriguing. He seemed interested in the history of dear old Lisey. As well as the ghosts, but he didn’t seem… He was just intriguing.”
“Wanna talk to him? Tell him your experiences? ” Louis continued waggling his eyebrows.
“We’ve been over this, Lou. Draughts sometimes shut doors. It doesn’t mean we’ve got spirits lingering in our Nest.”
“Draughts don’t open doors. Especially not medicine cabinet doors,” Louis pointed out, serious now. “It wouldn’t hurt to have a little conversation with him. Who knows, we might end up on TV, like that bald dude you’re always thirsting after.”
“He’s called Aaron,” Harry rolled his eyes, a little warm around the collar regardless. “You’ve watched, like, five seasons with me, you should remember by now. And I don’t thirst after him,”
“Sure sure. But imagine , this lad makes a video and it catches their eye. And they want to make an episode on our little nest. Bet you’d love talking about medicine cupboard doors then, hm?” Louis teased.
“You’re unbelievable,” Harry giggled, “But we can talk to him if you’d like. Not because of what you said, though!”
“Sure, love, sure. I’m not a jealous man,” Louis laughed heartily, intertwining his fingers with Harry’s. “We can ask him if he’s free for dinner tonight,”
Louis was going through the new photos they’d been submitted for the wall when he saw the man Harry had told him about come through the door, looking slightly harried, a very expensive looking camera clutched in his hands.
“Hi, Niall, right?” Louis smiled, handing him the keys to his room from the wall behind him.
“Oh- Uh, yeah” The other man said, sounding a little surprised.
“Oh, my husband told me- You must’ve met him, he’s usually always in the kitchen.” Louis explained, hoping that’d comfort the man a little. He looked a little out of his depth, and Louis thought Harry was definitely right about calling him ‘intriguing’.
“Yeah, I met him this morning. Harry, right? I’m assuming you must be Louis? I’m Niall” The man smiled, holding up his camera a little apologetically.
“No worries,” Louis chuckled, keeping his hands in his pockets. “Found anything interesting?”
“Not really,” Niall said sheepishly. “A few EMF spikes, but out in the open, they don’t really count for much. Could be underground wiring.”
“I’d count them if I were you. Liset’s nowhere near that fancy,” Louis shook his head with a small smile. “We’ve still got ‘em overhead. The fuckin’ gennie’s never off the entirety of storm season. Anyway, you’ve still got the whole night to go,”
Niall just nodded, smiling somewhat stonily.
“I dunno how to ask this nicely, it’s Haz who’s got the gift of gab with all the guests so I’ll just spit it out,” Louis continued, hoping to himself he wasn’t crossing a line. “We were planning on asking you for dinner, but if you’d like we could just sit down and crack open a can each? Not an interview, just a little conversation. I reckon we’ve got some stories that could interest you- Only if you’d like, though, don’t feel obligated to.”
“I’d love that. Wouldn’t mind calling it an interview either, if you wouldn’t” Niall smiled back, and Louis found himself smiling back, pushing off the chair as he turned the answerphone on, leaving the desk unmanned for a while as he led Niall back to the porch.
“Wait so- You’re certain there was no one else ?”
“Absolutely,” Louis answered before Harry could make another excuse. “We’re the only property over this edge of the island, and the guests had long since vacated the entire island. You wouldn’t want to be around in the winters, I don’t blame ‘em.”
“And it just spontaneously caught fire?” Niall repeated, astounded, the can clutched vacantly in his hand.
“It didn’t catch fire so much as it simply disappeared. Nothing but a little char mark on the grass. And before you ask, there wasn’t even a storm that day, no errant lightning strikes.”
“It was quite windy, though,” Harry chipped in. “It was old, and honestly ramshackle. And they did find pieces of wood down by the beach a few days later.”
“So you’re suggesting the shed just… Blew away?” Niall asked apprehensively.
“He just doesn’t want to believe there’s things he can’t explain,” Louis said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
“No, I’m just saying, if there’s plausible explanations I’d rather believe in the simpler one first.” Harry insisted. It was like that saying, if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras. Harry was willing to accept something was different with the Nest, but Louis’ firm belief in the little wooden shed at the edge of the cliff having simply disappeared was a bit too far for him.
“Okay, but… You said there’s still proof?” Niall continued, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the moon was dipping in and out of some clouds, reflected in the water below.
“Yeah, nothing grows there, no matter what I do. Nothing takes root, all the saplings I’ve ever planted just… Wilt.” Louis shrugged. “And it’s just that patch, everything around it’s plenty green.”
Niall was about to press further when he saw Harry about to contradict, so he quickly changed the topic, wanting to make the most of the conversation. As adorable as he found their squabbles, it wasn’t every day that the owners of hotels wanted to talk about their experiences. Not the authentic ones, anyway. In his experience, the ones who were willing to share were almost always fabricated. The places were the infamous (at least among investigators), shady type of places where they’d tape streamers in the vents to make weird sounds when the flow was turned up, or remove surge protectors from the lamps to make them flicker on purpose.
To have a first-hand account of the activity that he could consider normal at this place was more than he could’ve asked for.
“So, uh, Harry…” he ventured. “Louis told me there’s a few rooms in particular that you tend to experience activity in?”
“If you can call a few cupboards closing activity. ” Harry offered hesitantly, sighing when Niall simply shrugged.
“Well, it tends to happen a lot in 13- And please don’t say anything about the numerology of it.” Harry groaned.
Niall shook his head. “No, no. But what exactly is it?”
“Hmm, well, we air the rooms ourselves in the winters, turning the sheets and such. We don’t keep any full time help, no one’s on the island anyway. It tends to happen then. Mostly the medicine cupboard in the bathroom bangs by itself.”
“Don’t sound so offhanded, we’d locked it-” Louis said, glancing at Niall.
“We could’ve just forgotten that one, Lou.” Harry sighed. “But, as I was saying. Sometimes there’s cold spots, but it’s an old house, there’s draughts.”
Niall nodded, biting his lip contemplatively, glancing up as the old filament bulb overhead flickered.
“That happens a lot too,” Louis said softly. “And the ones in the rooms are LEDs, too.”
“Lou, babe,” Harry said reproachfully. “The lines are overhead, it happens. They’re just surges.”
Niall wondered if he should point out surges usually never affected LEDs, then decided against it, steeling himself for his next question.
“What would you guys think of… Joining me one night? Just for a little while, if you’d prefer.”
Harry whipped to look at Niall, seeming a little hesitant, clearly considering how to say no without being rude but Louis jumped in first, for which Niall couldn’t help but be grateful.
“Oh hell yeah!” He nodded excitedly. “We could go to the attic, it’s been ages since I’ve been up there myself.” He added, more to Harry than anyone else.
Niall watched as Harry’s obvious hesitance washed away at just Louis’ words, finding it unbearably cute.
“Promise you won’t have to do much,” Niall said, hoping he could soothe Harry a little. “Often the spirits are more attached to people they know being around, so just being there might trigger them. You don’t have to do much, unless you want to, of course.” He added, mainly for Louis’ benefit.
“Fuck yes, I want to!” Louis exclaimed, chuckling. “When’re we doing this then?”
Louis didn’t even notice the pause before Niall spoke again, he was sure it had something to with being used to his mannerisms, but in reality, he was also beyond excited for this. He wouldn’t admit it to Harry for anything, but all the years of watching his ghost-hunting shows with him had whet his curiosity.
“Whenever you lads are free, I guess. My only interview’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, so I should be okay with whenever.”
“Oh, who’s it with?” Harry asked, warming up a little to this whole thing now that Louis was so intent on making it happen. Not that he was against it, but it felt a little weird to invite someone to experience the things they usually tried to keep to themselves.
“Lad called Lewis? I spoke to him when I called for the rooms,” Niall explained and Harry nodded. Lewis was one of their only full-time employees, (if you could call 8 months a year ‘full-time’). He helped out with everything, from gardening to manning the reception desk. He’d been here a fair few years, and Harry wasn’t surprised that he’d have a few stories to share.
“Alright, then.” Harry smiled, placing the can on one of the tables on the porch. “Since we’re doing this- You boys go get ready? I’ll clean up and join you in a jiff.”